Sabbath
by Joe Stalin
Summary: Its a well known fact that the dead are collected by Death. But, what if that was no longer the case? As a young upstart called Sabbath arrives, is Death at risk of losing work? And is it all part of a wider conspiracy that could end in early retirement?
1. The Young Upstart

**Summary:** It is a well known and regarded fact by virtually everybody with a brain, (and sometimes without), that once you die you are collected by Death. But, what if that was not exactly true, and you were collected by someone else entirely? Without Death's knowledge?

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and will indeed never, own the rights to any of Terry Pratchett's work.

**Note from the autor:** This is my first attempt at a Discworld fic, so be kind.

* * *

**Sabbath**

It is a well known and regarded fact, (ever since the beginning, and perhaps before that), that once someone's life has been extinguished, you are collected by Death. This is the rule. Once your life has ended, Death arrives to collect and then proceed to take you to wherever you were next expected. This is what has always happened, whether people have thought about it, chosen not to, or had it creep up on them unexpectedly.

But, what if this was no longer the case?

As you continue to ponder on this, imagine if you will an alleyway, at night. Also, imagine that it is raining, hard. And finally, imagine a solitary figure attempting to stay dry, without success. This lone figure was a one Sebastian Antopulis. He was sixety-five years old, single, and to most of his acquaintances a bit of a bore. But these things are unimportant. What is important, is that one Sebastian Antopulis was about to die.

Clutched in his more than a little damp hand was a piece of paper. He had read over it several times in the last few minutes, and was in the process of reading it a further time just to make sure.

It said: "OooEeeOooEeeOoo"

In legend, it is believed that just before a persons death is imminant, a banshee's wail would signal to the world your passing. Whilst this was also true of the inhabitants of Ankh-Morpork, the only remaining banshee on the Disc, the charmingly named Mr Ixolite, was the unfortunate owner of a speech impediment. So, instead of shrieking his message from the rooftops, a note would be slipped under your door or at your feet which would read "OooEeeOooEeeOoo". Normally, the recipient would have just long enough to read the message, allow it to sink in, and then drop dead. But not this time.

Because one Sebastian Antopulis had received the note some one and a half hours ago, and was still waiting. Now, as can be expected, Death has a very busy schedule. But surely an hour and a half was pushing it. It was bad enough that you knew were about to kick the bucket (not literally of course, as it would be a bit difficult once you were dead), but to then be expected to wait was borderline rude.

"Perhaps he's forgotten me" one Sebastian Antopulis wondered aloud, pulling his coat collar up around himself, and allowing the soaked material to leak its contents down his neck. But this notion was absurd. Death _never_ forgot to collect someone.

Now, Death didn't personally collect everyone who had died. Usually only the highest ranks, (wizards, royalty, and people who had enough money and enough brains to pass it on to the right people), were who Death collected personally. And although one Sebastian Antopulis didn't like to brag, at least that is what he claimed, he should have by now have had the decency to be allowed to pop it and be collected by the cloaked skeleton.

"Bugger, whats taking him so long?" one Sebastian Antopulis muttered, border-line fumed, to no one in particular.

He wasn't expecting an answer.

"_Sorry. I hope I have not put you out_"

It wasn't that someone had suddenly walked into the alleyway and joined one Sebastian Antopulis. It was more the fact that one second he had been alone, and the next he wasn't.

One Sebastian Antopulis didn't even feel the moment he died. He had just clasped his eyes on the figure he was now sharing the alley with, and the next moment he was also staring at his body underneath him. He would be forgiven if he wasn't more than a little shock.

"Who are you?" the now deceased one Sebastian Antopulis demanded.

The person who was now standing over the now expired one Sebastian Antopulis was certainly not Death. In fact, it would be highly doubtful if you could find a much greater polar opposite in terms of dress sense. Not that Death had a dress sense in the first place. The mystery man/woman/animal/vegetable, (the figure wasn't a mix and match of all these things, one Sebastian Antopulis just could't make it out clearly, so in this case he couldn't yet deny that the figure _wasn't_ in fact a mixture of all four things), was dressed as the traditional stereotypical undertaker. The big long black coat, the black top hat, the bright polished black shoes that were just _too_ polished to be natural. 'It' was also wearing black gloves and twirling a long black umbrella in 'its' grip. One Sebastian Antopulis couldn't help but notice that although it was raining heavily, not a single drop landed on the figure in front of him. It was as if the drops purposely turned away just before impact, for fear of hitting and suffering the consequences as a result.

'It' took a step closer to the floating spirit of one Sebastian Antopulis, and removed 'its' hat from 'its' head. Whether it was out of politeness or not briefly crossed one Sebastian Antopulis' mind before he realised what he was now looking at. 'It' wasn't an it, 'it' was a dog. A six foot tall bipedal dog to be exact, with eyes which pierced through his heart like ice. This despite the fact he now no longer had a heart to feel it with.

"_Forgive me. I...lost track of time_" the dog said as calmly as one would tell the weather. The spirit of one Sebastian Antopulis felt the chill from these words, an amazing feat considering he was now incapable of feeling _anything. _

"You're not Death" one Sebastian Antpoulis said, almost accused.

The dog looked round his shoulders briefly before turning back to one Sebastian Antopulis "_You have noticed. No I am not_"

"Then...what are you doing here?" one Sebastian Antopulis asked, more than a little hesitantly.

The dog raised an eyebrow "_I would have thought that that would be obvious_"

"I wasn't expecting you" one Sebastian Antopulis said, peeking around the figure in the hope that Death had finally gotten around to him.

"_You had plenty of time when you knew you were close to dying_" the dog answered, ruffling its gloved paw around the cravat around its neck.

"No, you misunderstand. I wasn't expecting _you_" one Sebastian Antopulis explained, becoming as confused as it is possible for a recently deceased person to be.

The dog nodded "_Understandable. I am...new at the job_"

One Sebastian Antopulis looked at the dog curiously "Are you here to collect me?"

The dog nodded "_Yes. I assume you have had enough time to prepare?_"

One Sebastian Antopulis nodded, as much as a spirit was capable of nodding anyway "Yes. But...you will forgive me for being curious. Who are you, and where is Death? The _real _Death I mean"

The dog shrugged "_I do not know where he is_"

One Sebastian Antopulis frowned, as much as a spirit was capable of frowning anyway "He didn't send you?"

The dog shook his head, tightening his grip on his umbrella "_No_"

"Then...why are_ you_ collecting me, and not him?" one Sebastian Antopulis asked, beginning to feel a sense of foreboding rising up inside him, even though he no longer had an inside to speak of.

The dog smiled, like a shark would smile at a small unexpecting fish "_The rules have..changed slightly_"

"They have?" one Sebastian Antopulis asked curiously.

The dog nodded "_Yes. Now, I have to hurry you along. I don't want to be eavesdropped on_"

One Sebastian Antopulis back away slightly, or floated away slightly due to his present condition "I'm not going with you! You're not Death!"

The dog sighed "_One, yes you are. Two, no I am not. I am better_"

One Sebastian Antopulis watched as the dog raised its umbrella in the air. It wasn't that it changed from an umbrella before his eyes, it was more the fact that one second it was an umbrella, the next it was a scythe.

The blade of the scythe made a sound resembling a _whum _for a split second, and a further split second past by before one Sebastian Antopulis realised he had been cut in half, and promptly vanished into the air as a result.

The dog span round on his heels, his entire body spinning round to face the other way whilst his heels remained cemented to the floor, and walked out of the alley. The scythe was now an umbrella once more, although no one had noticed the change. There was no one in eyeshot anyway to see it. And there was no one in earshot either to notice the fact that the dogs footsteps, instead of making the traditional_ clunk _sound as would be expected, made a sound similar to a _unk_, as if he had become stuck between the two sounds in mid-step.

It is a known fact that the dead are collected by Death. Its been this way since the beginning, and indeed will be this way at the end. But, as has just been witnessed, there now seems to be an exception. Some young upstart is doing the work of Death, without Deaths knowledge. And his name is Sabbath, the Wonder Dog.

As the Great A'Tuin continues his journey through space, a certain robed skeleton finally realises he's losing work...

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**Tell me what you all think! If you want me to continue with it, tell me and I will be more than happy to oblige! Thanks!**

**Joe.**


	2. Theatrical Rivalry

Greetings yall! It's time for part 2! Thanks to all those who have read and reviewed so far! As this is my first step into DiscWorld fiction, it really means a lot.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and indeed never shall, own any of Terry Pratchett's work.

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**Sabbath**

It is easy to understand a person's anger when a complete stranger appears and starts muscling into your life, and your job. It is not a pleasant experience for anybody. And it wasn't any different for Death.

He had known beforehand that something was a little bit odd. Every now and again for the last few weeks he had noticed things going missing here and there from his house. Whilst this was true of almost everybody once in a while, when these things happened to be the life glasses of every living occupant on the DiscWorld, it wasn't something you could let slip to the back of your mind. Not that Death had a mind it could slip back to anyway.

This had now come to a head by the fact that not one, not two, not even three, but _four_ hourglasses had gone missing. Right under the noses of Death and Albert, his butler. And whilst Death had an excuse(1), Albert was not so fortunate.

_(1)- Considering the fact that Death didn't have a nose and, unfortunately, Albert did._

BUGGER, Death said, examining the noticable space on the shelf.

"Maybe they've been misplaced Master" Albert began, but was stopped when Death gave him an icy stare. Although his face didn't change, Albert knew the expression was icy from long experience.

Death tapped the space with a delicate bony finger accusingly.

THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE. BUT THEY ARE NOT. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

"Well, maybe you forgot that you've already done them, Master"

ITS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO FORGET ABOUT ANYTHING

"Or...maybe...maybe..." Albert gave up. It was funny how he had come to take for granted the fact that the hourglasses were always there, at all times. To suddenly realise that some were missing, and also the fact that even Death didn't know where they were, was a rather peculiar thing to experience.

Death tapped his scythe, pondering. He frowned, a rather surprising feat considering his lack of facial expressions.

IM...PUZZLED. IS THAT THE RIGHT WORD?

"Yes" Albert replied cautiously.

COULD I HAVE MISPLACED THEM? IS THAT POSSIBLE?

Albert shrugged "Everyone misplaces things sometimes, Master"

Death thought about that for a while.

"We're they important, Master?" Albert asked after a minute.

Death shrugged, or at least that's what he appeared to do.

MAYBE. I'LL HAVE TO LOOK IT UP

It wasn't unusual for Death not to know exactly who exactly he was supposed to pick up. He did get asked a lot though, so maybe he should look it up at some point.

Death wandered past Abert down the marble floor of the life-timer room.

AND ALBERT...

"Yes Master?"

Death looked up at the numerous shelves that stretched up as far as the ceiling, and then even further up.

DO A COUNT. I WANT TO KNOW HOW MANY ARE MISSING

Albert watched as Death left the room, and looked round at the innumerous hourglasses and shelves with a look that would have made a statue feel pity.

"Bugger"

* * *

At that particular moment, far away from the confines of Death's house, and accident had just taken place. 

It was the result of a lifelong equation. Four friends + a night out at a certain Ankh Morpork drinking establishment + a bet to see who could drive the fastest whilst the others were standing up, which equals... a rather messy pileup that someone would have the unfortunate task of cleaning up the day after.

Grub Finley pulled himself out from underneath the upturned remnants of the cart he had moments before been driving. His head hurt, which was understandable as there was a sizeable dent now in the centre of his forehead, and he had a nasty taste in his mouth(2).

_(2)- which, strangely, was an improvement on the taste of alcohol he had been bingeing on._

"Next time, I'll ride in the back" he muttered.

"_A bit late for that, I am afraid_"

The hollow voice rolled out of the fog that surrounded the field the cart had ended up in. In a moment, its owner followed, tall and dark-coated, fog misting his top hat, a sardonic gleam in his eye.

"_It appears you have failed the parallel parking test. What a shame_" Sabbath smiled, leaning on his umbrella which was somehow managing not to sink into the soft mud that Grub was up to his elbows in.

"Thank you for reminding me" Grub slurred, staggering to his feet and surveying the wreck. "Wasn't I with three other guys the last time I checked?"

Sabbath's smile narrowed "_I am afraid I am going to have to rush you. I have a schedule to keep_"

"What schedules that then?" Grub looked up at the dog clearly for the first time, although due to his present condition there appeared to be three Sabbath's all looking at him.

Sabbath surveyed the empty field, and removed something from the confines of his coat. Grub squinted at it. It was an hourglass.

"What's that?" Grub muttered.

Sabbath held the glass between forefinger and thumb "_You_" he said cooly, and crushed the glass into powder.

Grub Finley vanished from view, the only sound a muffled _whum_ that cut through the air like a scythe. Sabath's smile returned, and he span on his heels and merged back into the fog.

And all this was witnessed by a cloaked rat and his raven steed who had been watching with interest.

* * *

SQUEAK EEK EEK 

YOU DON'T SAY?

EEK EEK

REALLY?

SQUEAK

HOW VERY INTERESTING

Death tapped his fingers on the great black desk he was sat behind. A large jigsaw dominated much of the desk, and despite the fact it was almost completely finished, Death still didn't have a clue what it was supposed to be. Maybe he had done it wrong, or perhaps he'd put it together upside down.

The Death of Rats stood in the centre of the desk, leaning on his tiny scythe. Death looked at him intently, or as intently as it was possible for a blank skull to look.

WELL, THAT WOULD EXPLAIN A LOT

SQUEAK?

WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

EEK

Death stood up, scythe gripped tightly. In his other hand was a scrap of paper on which Albert had written down the names of the hour glasses that were missing. One name had been circled elegantly.

I'M GOING TO THE THEATRE

SQUEAK?

I'M NOT SURE. I'LL SEE WHAT IT IS WHEN I GET THERE

SQUEAKY EEK?

HOPEFULLY, A COMEDY. I COULD DO WITH A LAUGH

SNH SNH SNH

* * *

Cecil Mordeki held his hand out to accept the customers money, and handed him his ticket. So far, that was the thirtieth he had sold. It was going to be a packed house. 

That wasn't so surprising. The guy on stage, the charmingly named Melvin Melvinson, had gone down a storm the previous night, and word had spread. Now, the ever critical public of Anhk Morpork were coming in their droves to either be entertained by Melvinson, or make him their latest target board for whatever they had brought to chuck at him.

Cecil cast an eye up as the next person stepped forwards to receive a ticket. Was it his imagination, or did the air suddenly become colder?

ONE PLEASE

Cecil nodded nervously, and reached down to remove a ticket. Passing it forwards, he held his hand out to accept the money. It dropped into his palm, several gold pieces, corroded and cold to the touch. The customer picked up the ticket with delicate figners...very delicate fingers.

THANK YOU

Cecil watched the figure walk out of his eyeline, and licke his lips.

"Nnnn...nnnnnext?"

* * *

The audience were not disappointed, or at least didn't show it. Melvinson held their attention all through the performance, a mixture of dance, drama, and fingure puppetry that had them mystified. Either that, or the beer on sale that night was on the strong side...more than usual. 

In the audience, a cowled figure sat in the centre, a packet of sweets in his hands. Next to him, a young man and woman kept giving him cautious looks. Indeed, their attention was spent more on him that Melvinson.

Death smiled, and held the packet of sweets out.

SWEET?

They each took one, and gobbled them down mutely in one swallow. An amazing feat, considering they were the size of pebbles.

Melvinson went into his final act, a dramatic reinactment of the death of a long since departed rich merchant. He stood up to his full height, four foot three, held up his arms in a heroic gesture, and fell backwards. His head made an audible _clonk_ on impact with the floor.

The audience applauded as one. It was indeed a very realistic death scene, the best they'd ever seen in fact.

They only became a little bit concerned later on when Melvinson didn't get back up, even after everyone had left.

The young couple realised also that their nerve inducing but generous seat partner had left.

* * *

The stage door brought Death out to the entrance. The marquee was dark now, no doubt having had a profitable day at the expense of the foolhardy buyers of such delights as pig insides on a bun, which was so fresh the pig itself hadn't yet realised they were missing. 

Death leant on his scythe on the damp pavement, and waited. Sure enough, distant footsteps came to his ears, or whatever he had that acted as a good substitute.

_unk unk unk_

Death realised his grip had tightened on his scythe, and relaxed it as Sabbath came into view, emerging from the theatre entrance like a macabe undertaker hitting the town. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed the cloaked skeleton for the first time, and then walked up slowly with an air of smugness that would have made a statue cringe.

"_Do you always dress like that when off duty, or have I caught you at a bad time?_"

Death frowned, his eyebrows glowing blue, and stepped up to the dog.

I THOUGHT YOU DID VERY WELL. FIRST TIME ON STAGE?

Sabbath shrugged "_I am just a natural. Enjoy the performance?_"

NOT QUITE MY THING

Sabbath raised an eyebrow "_Intriguing. And what do I owe the pleasure?_"

WHO ARE YOU?

"_Is that all, because it does seem strange to come all this way for one question_"

AND, WHY ARE YOU DOING MY WORK?

Sabbath smirked "_Your work? A bit of a selfish comment don't you think?_"

Death pursed his lips, another intriguing feat only he could pull off.

WHO ARE YOU?

Sabbath's smirk widened "_My friends call me Sabbath_"

SO WHAT DO _I_ CALL YOU?

"_I see you are as annoying as your reputation states_" Sabbath lost his smirk and gripped his umbrella that little bit tighter.

I HAVE A REPUTATION TO KEEP

"_And you are doing very well_" Sabbath surveyed the deserted street. "_Shall we continue this conversation indoors? Preferably, somewhere with a bar_"

I DON'T WANT TO CONTINUE THIS CONVERSATION. I WANT TO KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WHAT YOUR INTENTIONS ARE

Sabbath shrugged "_Very well. What was your first question again?_"

WHO ARE YOU? Death felt like he was going round in circles, which in terms of conversation, he was.

"_My name is Sabbath, and as of this moment I am taking over your occupation_"

WHY?

Sabbath's eyes widened slightly "_Because I was created to do that, that is why_" he answered, as if it was the clearest answer possible.

CREATED BY WHO?

Sabbath smirked "_Ah, now that is an interesting story. Are you sure you want me to tell it here, or would you rather take up my offer of a bar?_"

HERE WILL DO

"_Why exactly is that, may I ask?_"

I BELIEVE IT IS CUSTOMARY FOR DOGS TO REMAIN OUTSIDE AFTER DARK

Sabbath's eyes narrowed "_Was that meant to be a joke, because if it was I am afraid it went slightly over my head_"

WHY DO YOU TALK LIKE THAT?

"_Like what?_"

THAT TONE OF VOICE IS CLEARLY FORCED. YOU ARE TRYING TO SOUND LIKE ME

Sabbath faltered "_No I'm...I mean, no I am not!_"

Death smirked

SEE?

Sabbath snarled and composed himself, his umbrella now stabbing the ground and digging a groove

"_I was created as a much better version of you, which from what I can tell is not hard to do_"

HOW?

"_On this world, there are some places where reality is stretched thin. In these area's, if there is a tear, it is possible for...interesting occurances to occur. I am the result of an alchemists final experiment and a passing thought of a dying dog_"

A MISS-MATCH OF IDEAS?

Sabbath grunted "_Hardly. Two ideas in fact. In the case of the alchemist, the thought of himself achieving wealth through his experiment. Hence, the suit and the charm, which is something you lack in spades_"

Death frowned and pursed his lips, which were both lost on Sabbath.

"_In the case of the dog, the final thought of a big black dog appearing to take him to pastures greener on the other side. Hence, the canine in me. Now do you see?_"

BUT YOU'RE NOT BLACK

Sabbath narrowed his brow and looked himself over "_You know, I have noticed that too. Still, I guess you could say I am the Death of Dogs. Except, I also specialise in the deaths of all species, ever since my employment_"

EMPLOYMENT?

Sabbath's smile took on a sickly form "_I have been employed to take up your mantle, to make a better job of it than you have managed. My employers have come to see you as a threat, and therefore I am here to correct your mistakes and bumblings. A daunting task, I admit_"

SO, YOU ARE THE RESULT OF A DEAD ALCHEMIST AND A DOG?

"_Yes_"

AND YOU THINK YOU CAN DO A BETTER JOB THAN I CAN?

"_Yes_"

YOU'LL FORGIVE ME IF I LAUGH, BUT THAT IS THE FUNNIEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD

Death dissolved in a fit of laughter, like muffled funeral bells to the untrained ear. Sabbath clutched his umbrella, which was now no longer an umbrella, and more of a scythe.

With a well timed kick, Sabbath's well polished show came into abrupt contact with Death's knee. And with a sound similar to an army boot hitting a rotting tree trunk, Death hit the floor, hard.

"_Let me assure you Death, that I am a much better candidate for your post. And if I was you, I would start looking in the wanted adds. I hear they are recruiting scarecrows, and you fit the bill nicely_"

Spinning on his heels, Sabbath walked away down the damp pavement cobbles, his feet making the now familiar _unk unk unk_ sound. Since he was the middle outcome of two simultaneous ideas, it suited that he appeared to be stuck in the middle.

"_And if you find that some more hourglasses have gone missing,_" Sabbath's voice continued even after his physical form had disappeared. "_Just put it down to Sabbath the Wonder Dog_"

Death wasn't used to humiliation, it was something he didn't experience much during his work. But he was certainly feeling it now as he hobbled away, leaning on his scythe like a cane and looking more pathetic than he could possibly imagine.

And in a nearby alleyway, Gaspode the Wonder Dog was spitting bile.

"Sabbath the Wonder Dog indeed! What a cheek!"

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it! Death and Sabbath, how much more bitchiness can there be? Find out soon!**

**Joe.**


	3. Sobering Effects

**Greetings yall! Its time for part 3! Thanks to all those who have read and reviewed so far, they really mean a lot to me. And I can promise you that Death isn't the only person who Sabbath has irritated!**

* * *

**Sabbath**

**Sobering Effects**

Gaspode the Wonder dog lay in wait for his prey, which he was expecting at any moment. He was a good follower, and had tracked his target through the many darkened streets and alleyways that Anhk Morpork had to offer. Now all he had to do was wait.

He heard him before he actually saw him.

_Unk unk unk_

Gaspode lowered his head, baring his rotten teeth, as Sabbath walked into view. Although the cobbles were slick with puddles, not a single drop of moisture appeared to splash onto Sabbath's pristine outfit, whereas Gaspode himself was virtually sodden.

He was taller than Gaspode had remembered, but he was now a lot closer than before and could get an even closer look. With the top hat, Sabbath topped six foot. Without it, he was just as imposing, despite the fact he was as thin as someone on a very bad (or very good depending on the person), diet. It wasn't just the physical aspect of Sabbath that unnerved Gaspode. He had an air about him that only a single word could describe.

Foreboding.

Sabbath came to a halt, as if sensing something, and cocked his head slowly in Gaspode's direction. Gaspode felt a chill run up his back, and that was replaced by a cold bucket of terror, as Sabbath appeared knelt before him at an impossible speed.

"_Well, well. What do we have here?_"

Gaspode composed himself, and growled in Sabbath's face.

"I've got a bone to pick with you"

"_How apt_" Sabbath stood up to his full height and allowed Gaspode to walk up in front of him.

"What's the idea of stealin' my name?" Gaspode growled, his fur bristling despite the excess moisture, making him look like an oversized drowned rat.

Sabbath raised an eyebrow "_I beg your pardon?_"

"Sabbath 'the Wonder Dog', that's what I'm talking about!"

"_Why, is your name Sabbath as well?_" Sabbath asked, already bored with the little dogs chagrin.

"No! Its Gaspode!"

Sabbath smirked "_Ah, named after The Famous Gaspode, am I right?_"

"That's right" Gaspode nodded.

Sabbath nodded "_Charming. I take it you are not 'the' Famous Gaspode, am I right?_"

"No, don't be stupid!"

"_Obviously. I was merely...pulling your tail_"

Gaspode tucked his tail away to be on the safe side.

"_Is that all, because I have a schedule to keep_" Sabbath stifled a yawn. The little dog was boring him intensely.

Gaspode leered at the dog "Now hold on a minute! I want to know who you think you are stealin' _my_ title!"

Sabbath frowned "_Little dog, it is not your title. That is a very selfish statement, and I detest selfishness_"

Gaspode growled "I ain't a 'little dog'! Take that back!"

"_Or...what?_"

That scared Gaspode. For some reason the umbrella in Sabbath's grip had taken on a foreboding nature, as if it was about to lash out and bite him on a very delicate area.

Sabbath smirked cruelly "_As I believe the phrase goes...scram!_"

Sabbath vanished. It was as simple as that. And now Gaspode was alone. He continued to stare at the space which Sabbath had been standing on a mere second ago, and nodded his head.

"Neat trick"

* * *

The Palace of Lord Vetinari was shrouded in fog that coiled round it like thin strings that threatened to choke the life out of it at the first opportunity. It was late, but Vetinari wasn't asleep. 

The Patrician was engrossed in the reams of paperwork that was spread across his desk, a cup of coffee on one side that he took occasional sips from. At that particular moment, he couldn't have looked more content.

He looked up at a noise that caught him partially off-guard, a single eyebrow raising higher than usual that symbolised his confusion. No one else was meant to be awake at this hour, and if they were, they usually didn't make a noise. Whether this was out of politeness of fear he wasn't sure.

_Unk unk unk_

Vetinari's other eyebrow lifted to join its brother as the sound got closer. He put down the report he had been glancing over and folded his arms as Sabbath walked into the room.

The dog doffed his hat "_Good evening Patrician. I hope I have not caught you at a bad time_"

To say Vetinari was surprised would have been a slight understatement. A six-foot tall bipedal dog dressed like an undertaker and holding an umbrella had just walked up to his desk, quite unexpected, and spoken to him as if he had been expected. None of this showed on Vetinari's face however, not that it ever did.

"I beg your pardon, Mr...?" he asked, his silky voice covering up his bemusement at such a bizarre moment.

"_Sabbath_" Sabbath's equally silky voice replied. The Patrician forced the slightest movement of a smile.

"Mr Sabbath. What do I owe this...unexpected visit?"

Sabbath smirked "_I have come to relieve you of the…occupants in your scorpion pit. The dead ones, I mean_"

"I see," Vetinari said. "And why exactly are you doing this service, may I ask?"

"_Its my job, sir_" Sabbath removed his hat and placed it over the Patricians coffee cup, much to Vetinari's chagrin.

"Is it indeed?" Vetinari asked through slightly gritted teeth. "I was under the impression that that position had already been filled, Mr Sabbath"

Sabbath smirked grimly "_Yes, well that is debateable Patrician. Now, do you have any objections?_"

Vetinari tapped his fingers on the desk. It would be easier and indeed tidier if the pit was cleaned out earlier than expected, and it wasn't as if he didn't have anything to fill it back up with _(1)_, but at the same time he was more than a little put out by this complete stranger barging in unexpected and speaking to him as if he was an equal. That kind of behaviour was frowned upon.

"Not at all. Help yourself" Vetinari smiled politely.

"Thank you, Patrician" Sabbath winked and walked down to the pits. Vetinari waited patiently, his mind ticking over at the possibilities of solving the problem of this smug individual. From his appearance he was clearly a werewolf. And the name 'Sabbath' was obviously a cover. Perhaps he would put a bounty out, or maybe he would have him collared at the door and dragged back to the pits. After all, he had just done the service of clearing it out. What better payment than to be the first to refill it?

Then again, there was something about Sabbath that unnerved the Patrician, the rarest of feats indeed. Perhaps it was the voice, silky, smug, with a hint of something sinister that made your skin crawl. Or, and this was something Vetinari couldn't understand, it was the way he moved. He didn't walk so much as glide, making as little contact with the ground as possible. And then there was that umbrella. Something very peculiar about that umbrella...

Vetinari looked up as Sabbath appeared in front of the desk. He hadn't heard him come back in.

"_Sorry for the wait. There were quite a few down there_" Sabbath flashed a toothy grin, and Vetinari suddenly felt for a split instant like a small fish looking into the jaws of a very large and very hungry predator.

"Will that be all Mr Sabbath?" Vetinari asked, his voice slightly quieter than usual. He had never felt this way before, and he would damn make sure he wouldn't ever again.

"_For now_" Sabbath reached over and removed his hat from over the Patrician's steaming coffee cup. The coffee was now cold.

Vetinari watched as Sabbath reached into the confines of his coat, his umbrella defying gravity and standing up on its point completely unaided, and removed a small hourglass. He placed it on the desk and held it down with a single finger.

"What is that?" Vetinari stared at the glass. The two bulbs were frosted over, making it impossible for him to see the sand inside, but he could make out the inscription inscribed on the base.

VETINARI.

The Patrician looked up at Sabbath through narrowed, dangerous eyes "Where did you get that?"

Sabbath smirked "_I found it_"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"_Hardly_" Sabbath removed his finger from the glass. Vetinari made a grab for it, but was stopped as a heavy paw gripped him round his wrist.

"_Not a good idea, Patrician_" Sabbath lifted the glass up with his other paw and released Vetinari. "_You might break it, and that would never do_"

Vetinari blinked twice, a rare feat that only a privileged few had experienced.

"Who are you?" he asked, his gaze continually glancing over at the glass in Sabbath's grip.

Sabbath smirked "_I'm just Sabbath. That is all you need to know. See you around_"

It wasn't that Sabbath suddenly vanished right in front of Vetinari. It was more the fact that one second he was there, the next he wasn't. Vetinari glanced around warily, and with almost timid hands gripped his coffee cup and took a sip. At least he would have done, if the liquid hadn't been frozen over.

_(1)- The mimes never did learn.

* * *

_

Hibiscus glanced up from the glass he was polishing and cast a look down the side of the bar.

Yep. He was still there.

This notion was a continuous surprise for Hibiscus for several reasons. As well as the fact that he was unable to remember what time the drinker had actually turned up in the Mended Drum, it was also because of the rather large amount of alcohol the stranger had consumed. There were glasses scattered round the bar, there were glasses on the floor around the stool. There were at least three buckets. And if he squinted really hard he could just make out the corner of a trough peeking out from behind the bar. Eventually he was going to run out of drinking vessels to serve with.

Hibiscus squinted at the stranger. For some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, there was something about the drinker that unnerved him. He was rather thin for a start, and Hibiscus had at first wondered if the stranger was on an entirely liquid diet. Then he had purchased a pie from the kitchen, and that had put paid to that question. No, it was something he couldn't put his finger on that made him curious about the stranger. Still, he wasn't going to complain. His pockets hadn't felt so full in a while, and he had already armed himself with a spare belt just in case the drinker eventually realised that his glass was empty.

He felt he should start up a conversation; just to make sure the stranger in question hadn't actually died of alcohol poisoning.

"Any plans for tonight?" he ventured cautiously.

The stranger looked up from his glass rim, which he had been studying with great contemplation as someone would if it had just for example sprouted wings.

HOW DO YOU GET RID OF PESTS?

Hibiscus put down the glass he had been polishing. "How do you mean pests?"

YOU KNOW. PESTS. ANNOYING THINGS THAT…ANNOY YOU.

"You mean like rats?"

Hibiscus cast a glance at the nearest drinking vessel, where a small cloaked figure had only just managed to crawl out and had ruffled its nose at him in indignation.

SQUEAK!

"Sorry"

HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH YOUR PESTS? The stranger twirled a delicate finger round the rim of his glass, as if contemplating whether it was actually real or not.

Hibiscus shrugged "oh, I just put stuff down for them. Gets rid of them eventually"

YOU MEAN LIKE POISON?

"No, costs too much. I just throw a few glasses of whatever around. Works just as well"

The stranger's glass moved several feet down the bar away from him at this comment.

"What sort of pests are you talking about?" Hibiscus queried, glancing with one eye as the little cloaked figure scurried across the bar in front of him towards the fruit machine.

DOGS

"Oh yes? How many?"

JUST THE ONE

Hibiscus creased his brow "How much of a pest is this dog exactly?"

The stranger tapped his fingers as one would when considering how to phrase a question on the scale of the meaning of life, or what the river Anhk actually consisted of _(2)_.

A VERY…VERY…VERY…YES. HE'S JUST VERY SOMETHING

Hibiscus nodded in feigned understanding "Oh, one of those. I used to have one like that"

HOW DID YOU DEAL WITH IT?

"I had it stuffed. It's out in the back if you fancy a glance"

The stranger waved his hand in dismissal. He got to his feet, with only the vaguest hint of a wobble, and walked past with a hand outstretched. Hibiscus accepted the dozen or so corroded coins that were thrust into his hands.

THANK YOU. SEE YOU SOON.

Hibiscus watched the stranger hobble to the door, noticing for the first time the limp that the stranger possessed as he walked past the fruit machine, hooking the tiny cloaked rodent by the collar and wandering out into the street.

"You get all sorts round 'ere" Hibiscus muttered, briefly contemplating how long he could leave the in-numerous empty glasses round the bar before someone noticed.

_(2)- as well as the similar question "What came first? The Ankh or the contents?_

* * *

**Part 4 up soon! Someone is about to get an unwelcome house guest...**

**Joe.**


	4. Unwelcome House Guests

**Sabbath**

**Unwelcome House Guests**

Sabbath had taken a mansion built by someone with an eye for the macabre, a finely proportioned house filled with tall windows and light. Its elegant rationalism amused him. He made his office in the library, whose polished shelves reached to within a foot or two of the high ceiling and which looked out through grand doors on to a parapet of low oak wood centred with a solid looking sundial. Near the doors, he placed a graceful mahogany table to use as a desk. If this occasionally held instruments an observer would have found perplexing, Sabbath wasn't concerned; he never had visitors, and he didn't worry about intruders.

Which meant that he was, if not alarmed exactly, certainly brought to attention when one morning in the week following the encounter with Death he sank into the leather armchair by the fireplace, tome in hand, and heard a rude spurting sound.

Sabbath started and turned red. Recovering himself, he rose and examined the chair cushion. Lifting this exposed a deflated rubbber bladder with a short, wide tube. Sabbath glared for a moment at the offending object, then lifted his eyes and scanned the room. He found what he was looking for on the top of one of the bookshelves.

"_This is temporal contamination_" he snarled.

I KNOW, confessed Death, BUT I COULDN'T RESIST.

"_Typical of your immaturity_"

Death smiled. He was stretched out languidly on the bookshelf, eyes half shut, a feat he managed despite the absence of eyelids. For a skeleton, he looked perfectly, almost liquidly, relaxed.

Now he sighed. YES, IT IS, ISN'T IT? SUCH A PITY, I ONCE HAD SO MUCH PROMISE.

"_How did you get in?_"

CAN'T YOU FIGURE IT OUT? IT'S EASY ONCE YOU FIND THE CRACK IN THE SEAM.

Sabbath remained expressionless. Death's smile thinned mockingly. He slipped to the floor, padded over to Sabbath and laid his ear against his chest, listening.

_TI OCK_, _TI OCK_, LIKE A BADLY TUNED CLOCK. I DON'T THINK IT SOUNDS VERY HAPPY.

Sabbath calmly pushed him away and crossed to his desk.

AH, said Death. I SEE I WAS STANDING TOO CLOSE. INVADING YOUR PERSONAL SPACE. OF COURSE, EVEN FROM OVER HERE I'M INVADING YOUR PERSONAL SPACE.

Sabbath looked at him.

QUITE INTIMATE, REALLY. YET WE HARDLY KNOW EACH OTHER. LOVE SONGS HAVE BEEN WRITTEN ABOUT LESS.

Sabbath sighed and sat down "_Have you finished your drunken ramblings?_"

YOU WISH. Death gave a little hop and perched lightly on the edge of the desk, the Death of Rats scurrying out of his pocket and tripping over its scythe in the process. Sabbath had turned his attention to some papers. Death suddenly stretched out across them, like a cat taking over a waiting lap. He gazed soulfully into Sabbath's eyes. SHALL I CALL THEE BROTHER?

Looking bored, Sabbath rose up.

COMRADE? Death queried. NEXT OF KIN?

Sabbath left the room. I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN. OR...WELL, WHATEVER WORKS AS A GOOD SUBSTITUTE. Death warbled after him.

When Sabbath returned, Death and the Death of Rats were seated crosslegged on the desk surrounded by origami flamingo's.

"_Oh, I see,_" Sabbath said. "_Time for some infantile sabotage_"

I HAVEN'T DESTROYED ANYTHING. THE PAPERS ARE INTACT, THEY'RE JUST A DIFFERENT SHAPE. Death surveyed the flock. FLAMINGO'S ARE ALL RIGHT, he muttered. I'M NOT SAYING ANYTHING AGAINST THEM.

Sabbath looked at him in contemplation, as if considering whether it would be worth the bother to break him in half. "_Was there something you wanted?_"

Death snorted with laughter, the Death of Rats soon following. WHAT DO _YOU_ THINK? WALKED INTO THAT ONE, SABBATH OLD BOY. YOU FIGURED OUT HOW TO GET INTO MY HOUSE, I FIGURED OUT HOW TO GET INTO YOURS.

"_Well done. I did not realise it was a game_"

Death placed a hand on Sabbath's chest. NEITHER DID I. BUT YOU STARTED IT, SO I DECIDED TO PLAY BY MY_ OWN_ RULES.

Sabbath removed his hand. Death put it back. Sabbath pulled it away again, gripping Death's wrist as if he'd like to snap it.

"_It's time you accepted the situation. Stop taking it personally_"

HOW CAN I? Death yanked his wrist free. YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S TAKEN IT...PERSONALLY.

Sabbath sighed irritably. "_You are really doing a splendid job of embarassing yourself. Is that why you came?_"

NO, OF COURSE NOT. I JUST CAME TO GET ON YOUR NERVES. Death strolled to the fireplace, tossed the cushion into the embers, and flopped into a chair. THEY ARE _YOUR_ NERVES, AREN'T THEY? HAVEN'T STOLEN THEM AS WELL AS WELL HAVE YOU?

Sabbath ignored him, sitting in the opposite chair and glaring at Death in such a way that he almost felt like lowering his head and ruffling his hands in shame. "_You tracked me through into the Void? I thought that was beyond your...shall we say limited capabilities?_"

YES. QUITE SIMPLE REALLY. LIKE TWO PIECES OF WALLPAPER THAT MAKE UP THE UNIVERSE, THERE'S ALWAYS A SEAM YOU CAN GET YOUR FINGERNAIL INTO. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS LOCATE IT.

Sabbath sniffed. "_I'll have to-_" he began, but was interupted by the appearance of a young man in the door from the hall. He shot a quick glance at Death and immediately glided to Sabbath's side - not, Death noticed with interest, as if seeking safety, but protectively. He was intrigued by the young mans strong-featured face, particularly the little tufts of hair above each eyebrow, like patches of fur, giving him an almost feral look. Ironic, considering his canine counterpart. He touched Sabbath's shoulder warningly.

"_It's all right,_" Sabbath said. "_I know him. He's a personification, like myself. That's what your sensing. This is Ozzy,_" He directed to Death. "_He's sensitive to time anomalies. It's all right,_" he said to the young man again. "_You can leave us. I'll be quite safe_"

Reluctantly, and with a passing glare at Death, he left the room. Death looked after him, his mind ticking over. HE'S VERY SOLICITOUS ABOUT YOU. I'M BEGINNING TO WONDER ABOUT YOU SABB.

Sabbath ignored the comment. "_So, you know now how I have managed to get to and from your residence and around Anhk Morpork. Well done you. I hope you feel proud of your achievement, because I cannot see how you intend to use it to your advantage_"

I CAN STOP YOU GETTING INTO MY HOUSE.

"_And I can simply use another seam. Two pieces of wallpaper, more than one seam_"

Death nodded slowly. TRUE, BUT I CAN-, he stopped, and jerked around to face the door through which Ozzy had gone.

"_You hadn't figured it out?_" murmured Sabbath.

Death turned slowly back to face him. NOW THAT IS LOW.

Sabbath shrugged "_It amused me_"

SO YOU TOOK INTO SERVICE A MAN YOU SAW HAD A GIFT, JUST TO GET ONE OVER ON ME? A _COPY_ OF ALBERT?

"_This is a war. All the combatants cannot be choirboys. Besides, in order to usurp you I had to figure out how your mind ticked. Also, he is a remarkable cook_"

Death gave him a smouldering glare, which would have been effective if it weren't for the obvious drunken bleariness in his eyes.

Sabbath sighed again, with a genuine, not theatrical, wearniness. "_Very well. Ride your moral high horse. It won't make a difference in the end_"

Death got to his feet, with only the faintest of staggers, and turned to the door with the Death of Rats scurrying up his back. He felt with slight satisfaction a single hourglass trickle down his back and into his sleeve, captured by his rodent accomplice.

THANK YOU VERY MUCH. he said quietly, and turned back to Sabbath. I HOPE I CAN MAKE YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND ABOUT THAT FACT.

Death didn't make the fifteen or so steps back to the Mended Drum. He collapsed about halfway, and would upon regaining consciousness find himself unceremoniously chucked into a water barrel.

* * *

Ozzy worried about Sabbath. He did this unreflectively, oblivious to any irony in his concern for the welfare of someone so obviously powerful. Nor indeed had he any doubts about Sabbath personally. His faith in him was perfect. But he suspected that Sabbath had dangerous enemies, more devious and capable than he gave them credit for. 

He was particularly mistrustful of the thin stranger from before. He was _wrong_, why couldn't Sabbath see that? He didn't _fit_. Sabbath had seemed confident around him, and Ozzy would be very foolish and disrespectful in doubting him.

And yet...did he truly understand this stranger? Did he know everything about him? Did he feel like Ozzy had felt the decrease in temperature when the stranger was present? The hairs that stood on end at the back of his neck? The uncomfortable feeling of having been watched all through his life? Yes, something very wrong with that thin stranger. And the rat.

And it was just as he was thinking this that there came a crash from the study.

He was through the door in an instant, but everything was quite in place and paceful, except that he could not see Sabbath. Had he gone? The he heard a groan from behind the desk.

Sabbath had fallen from his chair. His eyes were shut and his face pale as death. Ozzy stared at him, panicked: he was too big: he could never shift him. Droppping to his knee's, Ozzy pulled his hankerchief from his breast pocket, dabbed at the drops of sweat on his brow and upper lip. He was cold through his fur and his breathing was shallow and irregular. At Ozzy's touch one eye opened slightly, but it was dull and unseeing. It was then Ozzy noticed, as Sabbath moved his head and the lamplight fell fully on him, the thin blue electrical haze surrounding the dog, crackling as though it were threatening to come apart.

Furiously, Ozzy called his name and shook him. He pinched him. Finally, he slapped him. And slapped him again. And then began hitting him in rage and terror. He clasped his hands together and pummelled his chest, as if he could batter consciousness back into Sabbath. Should he pray? But to who, or to what? Too many to list. That was typical of the Gods. There were too many to rummage through before you came to the right one for the right occassion.

"Ah, Gods!" he cried, and then, at once, Sabbath sat up so abruptly he knocked him over, the electric haze evaporating.

He immediately reached a paw to the edge of the desk to keep from falling again. His face was stil pale, and he looked at Ozzy confusedly, head doggishly tilted. He put his other paw to his chest, where Ozzy had pummelled him, and winced. The ironic glint came back into his eyes and he looked at Ozzy with sardonic appreciation.

"_Perhaps I should hire you out as a bouncer. You would make a killing_"

He placed both paws on the desk and, with a grunt, heaved himself to his feet. Ozzy saw the sweat break out again on his face.

"It was him"

"_What?_" Sabbath muttered distractedly.

"Him. The stranger" Sabbath glanced down at him irritably. "He did this"

"_Rubbish_" said Sabbath with a growl. His damp face glistened in the firelight. He stared at the flames and sat down, breathing deeply and raggedly.

"It was" Ozzy insisted stubbornly.

Without looking at him, Sabbath waved a dismissive paw. "_Leave me_"

Ozzy returned to the hall. When he was certain that he was alone, Sabbath raised a paw and examined it. He saw it. The faint crackle of electricity. He felt it too, like a force trying to pull it apart.

He glanced up from his seat. A grey robe hung in the air. It appeared to be occupied as it appeared to have shape, but to the naked eye was empty.

The robe said, Good evening Sabbath.

Sabbath's brain acknowledged the words, but his ears swore to him that they hadn't heard anything.

"_Did you sense that as well?_" Sabbath demanded, straightening in his seat.

We did, arrived in his head.

"_It's getting harder to control it. I'm coming apart!_"

We know, came the answer.

"_Well, can't you do something about it?_"

We will. Your nature makes it difficult for you to remain together. But we will continue to ensure you remain intact until after you are successful.

"_And after that?_" he threw in a faint whimper just in case it would help.

The belief in Death will have receeded and belief in you risen. You will be able to remain solid.

Sabbath grunted "_Very well. How long have I got?_"

We will let you know when the time draws closer. The cowl began to fade.

"_And Death?_"

Brought to a permanent end. The cowl faded.

Sabbath leant back in his chair, and cast an eye to an alcove where he had hidden the stolen hourglasses. One of them was missing.

"You son of a bitch!" all traces of his _voice_ vanished.

* * *

**Part 5 coming soon. New alliances and old enemies a-plenty! Stay tuned!**

**Joe.**


End file.
